The Twelve Days of Christmas
by Lizzy Sidle
Summary: The lab is faced with a bizarre case that bears an odd resemblance to a carol, and Santa is the suspect. But that's nothing compared to what the team is doing for the holidays. An ugly sweater, Nutcracker, and more. What could happen in only 12 days?
1. Silver Bells

It's that time of year again! The holiday season has come, and Christmas is fast approaching. A strange case that holds an uncanny resemblance to a Christmas song and some stolen toys lead the team into a holiday centered case. And what's more, is what's going on behind the scenes. A Christmas party, a Nutcracker, a hideous sweater, and more. What sort of stuff can possibly happen in only twelve days?

**A/N:** Happy Holidays everyone! Whatever holiday you celebrate (Although it's probably Christmas if you're reading this) I'm wishing each and every one of you a wonderful holiday season. This is my Christmas gift to anyone and everyone who's ever read something I've written, whether or not you liked it. I'd also like to dedicate this to my two favorite writing partners—Caleb and Maria. You can thank them for an easy read. Caleb really helped with suggestions (Even if I didn't always follow them!) and Maria was a great editor. I'm hoping to have this done by Christmas with 13 chapters! Though this year I will continue writing as long as it's December! Wish me luck!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any recognizable characters. I just pretend. They really belong to CBS, Jerry Bruckheimer, etc.

**Spoilers:** Big one for Bodies in Motion; Season 6 premier. Can't come up with anymore off the top of my head.

**Ships:** I am trying _really_ hard to make this as un-shippy as possible with out having to take anything out. Although I admit that I am a biased Greg/Sara and Catherine/Grissom shipper, I'm still trying to keep their interactions and any tension as platonic if not nonexistent. (This effort may lead to some Unresolved Sexual Tension) I'm also trying to put in as many different friend-on-friend interactions as possible. Again, wish me luck!

* * *

**Silver Bells**

**December 13, 9:32 PM**

_**12 days until Christmas**_

"_City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style. In the air there's a feeling of Christmas."_

Vegas was a town of glitz, by pure nature. Bright lights, busy streets, and entertainment at every corner—it was to be expected such a thing as Christmas could turn the city's decorating scheme into overdrive. The holidays were drawing nearer and with each passing day, another wreath hung on another door, tinsel filled up another window, and another Santa Claus could be found sitting in a store. Enormous Christmas trees stood out in front of the popular stopping places for both tourists and residents alike, the strings of light enough to make up for the billions of stars the city lacked.

"_Children laughing, people passing, meeting smile after smile. And on every street corner, you hear…"_

The brightness of the city lights was only matched by the brightness of people's moods. Adults and children both bustled down the sidewalks, squeezing into their cars, their arms laden with packages and presents for loved ones. The Black Friday rush was over by a couple of weeks, but even still crowds lingered on the doorsteps of every well-to-do store in the city. And at the end of the day, it probably wouldn't hurt to stop in at a restaurant for a nice dinner, or maybe do away with the last of the spending money in a couple games of poker.

"_Silver bells, silver bells. It's Christmas time in the city."_

A single bell-ringer from the Salvation Army stood outside a popular toy-store. The shop was located on a side road, a couple of miles from the heart of the city, and was one of the best toy shops for several miles. You couldn't compare a cozy, family-owned, little toy store with something like a Super Wal-Mart. The man waving the bell was dressed in Santa attire, right down to rosy cheeks and the long white beard. As customers passed him into the store, he would tip his hat and ring the bell louder. Whether or not they avoided eye contact, waved and smiled, dropped in some pocket change, or put in a hefty check, he treated them the same.

"_City streetlights, even stoplights, blink a bright red and green. As the shoppers rush home with their treasures."_

A young girl and her mother, who was pushing a cart loaded with toys and other Christmas gifts, walked out of the store. The bell-ringer nodded pleasantly at them, smiling beneath his beard. The girl grinned back and then turned to her mother, tugging on her sleeve.

"Mommy! Mommy, it's Santa Claus! I want to put a dollar in! Can I put a dollar in Mommy? Please?"

"No, Lena. We have to get to the post office before it closes. We don't have time."

"_Mommy_!"

"Uggh. Why can't you just listen to your mother for _once _in your life?" And yet the woman plunged into her pocket and pulled out a single dollar bill.

Lena snatched it up and bounded over to the man in the costume and the red bucket.

"Here you go, Santa!" Lena cried, sticking the dollar into the red bowl. She glanced at her mother, who was impatiently checking her watch, before she turned back and whispered, "Santa, I want a dollhouse this Christmas. And I want it with lots of dolls inside, and furniture to match, and clothes for the dollies, please! I've been really good!"

The man laughed, doing a perfect impression of a 'Ho, ho, ho'. "I'll be sure to do that, Lena."

"Lena! Come _on_!"

"Coming, Mommy!" she called back. She turned to the bell-ringer one last time. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas."

Lena hopped off again, back to her mother's side. The woman offered a fake smile and then pushed the cart off across the parking lot.

"_Here the snow crunch, see the kids bunch, this is Santa's big scene! And above all the bustle, you hear…"_

As Lena and her mother went out of sight, two adults, a man and a woman, came out of the toy store. The woman was tall and slim, her dark hair falling over her ears and flipping at the shoulder. The man was trimly built and his brown hair was highlighted blond. It was long enough to just brush the tips of his ears, curling slightly. He wore a light jacket in the 40° weather, as did she, and they were talking fervently over something inside the shopping bag they had brought out with them.

"Really, Greg, I don't know if buying Lindsey a makeup kit was really a smart thing to do. You know how Catherine's uptight about that sort of stuff…"

"Yeah, but this is what _all_ the teenage girls want nowadays."

"Oh and _you _would know? Besides, she's _barely_ a teenager…she's 14."

Greg shrugged. "She's still four-_teen_."

Sara opened the bag in Greg's arms and peered inside. "I wasn't into makeup when _I_ was 14."

"You hardly like it now," he muttered under his breath.

Sara barely kept herself from snidely responding, instead saying, "Well at least she'll have a new book to read."

"Hey, _you_ were the one who wanted _my _help, and now you go saying that the gift you thought of was better?"

The bell-ringer tipped his hat at the two as they headed past, still bickering. He subtly began ringing the bell slightly louder.

"Hey, look!" Greg cried, suddenly distracted. He stopped in his tracks and pointed at the bell-ringer. "Sara, hold this."

Greg thrust the shopping bag into Sara's hands as she quickly shifted her purse to her shoulder and her car keys to three fingers on her left hand. He dug into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, rifled through it, and came out victoriously with a five dollar bill.

"Greg," Sara began, trying to get the shopping bag into a manageable position. She threw a faint smile at the bell-ringer, then hissed at Greg, "If you give him five dollars, then I'll have to give him five dollars so _I don't feel guilty_!"

"It's not my fault you have a conscience." Greg strutted over to the red bucket and melodramatically placed the folded bill inside. "Happy holidays!" Greg greeted as Sara headed over, her arms quite full.

"Happy holidays to you too." The bell-ringer lifted his hat once more, peeking over the top of his silvery glasses. "Who's Lindsey?" he asked pleasantly in a deep and merry voice.

"Just the daughter of a friend of ours," Sara managed, struggling to hold onto everything.

"Here." Greg took the shopping bag from Sara, letting her breathe a sigh of relief.

"She's 14?" the older man continued.

They nodded.

"I bet she'd like a new music player—MP3, I-pod, or otherwise. The CD player she has probably skips."

Sara and Greg raised their eyebrows, slightly puzzled expressions on their faces. They shared a glance, but before they could respond, two quick beeping noises sounded and they looked down at their belts.

"Grissom," Sara stated simply, catching sight of her pager.

"You talk to him; I'll go start the car…" Greg reached out and snatched the keys from Sara's hand. Sara scowled, but reached into her purse, pulled out her cellphone, and dialed.

"Hey Griss, what's up? Greg and I were out shopping. No, he was helping me pick out some stuff for Lindsey. No. Yes. Mhmm. What do you _mean_ high-profile? _Great_…"

Sara noticed that the old man was watching her. She offered a quick smile and dug into her purse again as Grissom continued speaking on the other line. She came out with a five dollar bill (just so they were even), and dropped it into the bucket. Smiling, Sara mouthed _'Merry Christmas'_ as Greg pulled up. She climbed into the passenger seat and they drove away.

The bell-ringer smiled and continued to wave the bell up and down, up and down, steadily like the beat of a drum, as he hummed quietly to himself.

"_Ring-a-ling, hear them ring. Soon it will be Christmas day!"_


	2. Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer

**A/N: **Okay, so I forgot to put this bit in the first chapter. Maybe you remember that I actually wrote this in every intention for _last_ year's Christmas. If you've decided to continue reading _this _year, I thank you very much. If this is your first time seeing this, I thank you very much as well. The bonus of having a whole year to revise 4.5 chapters is that things improve. The plot and basics are the same--just a couple tweaks here and there. I hope you enjoy and read as much as you did December 13, 365 days ago!**

* * *

**

**Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer**

**December 13, 10:12 PM**

_**12 days until Christmas**_

"Griss, this had better be one damn good high profile of a case if you had to call me in early on a night Tina and I were out," Warrick complained irritably, stepping out of his vehicle, carrying his silver kit. He wore a leather jacket to keep out the chill, and a small hint of cologne lingered on him, though he _had_ planned to wash it off before coming in to work. He caught up with Grissom at the front of a large Victorian style home. It was decorated like many of the houses on the block were, with wreaths and holly berries, Christmas lights, and a light up Santa and sleigh on the roof.

"It's the sheriff's daughter, Megan," Grissom stated, meeting Warrick in the middle of the street, his hands in his pockets on that cool night.

"What are you talking, kidnapping?"

"No, theft. Some of her toys were stolen." The two turned unison and walked toward the home.

Warrick's face fell and he rolled his eyes. "Grissom, you gotta be kidding me. You called the entire team in early to find the sheriff's daughter's missing _toys_?"

"Yes. And no." Grissom stopped and the two turned to face each other in the driveway, just before the crime-scene tape.

"No?"

"There's a dead elderly woman out back, with hoof prints on her forehead." He jerked his head towards the back yard.

Warrick let out a laughing breath of air. "You're kidding me, right?"

Grissom shrugged, his eyebrows raised. He lifted the tape. "You should see for yourself."

Warrick gave him a skeptical and slightly annoyed look as they entered the perimeter of the crime scene, heading toward the backyard of the sheriff's house. They noted the sheriff himself leaning on the front of his Cadillac as Brass spoke to him. A few yards away, on the front lawn, Sofia spoke to the 8-year-old daughter of the sheriff. The girl was still dressed in her purple flannel nightgown, draped in her father's coat as they stood in the nippy air. Her dark brown hair was shoulder-length and tucked behind her ears. She had big, dark blue eyes and her face was cute, if only for her long and pointy nose.

"I heard that Megan was not a pleasant kid," Warrick stated, nodding at her as they traipsed down the lengthy driveway.

"She's been spoiled," Grissom stated simply.

"Hey! _Grissom_!"

Warrick and Grissom turned to see Catherine jogging towards them with Sara and Greg getting out of the Denali behind.

"_Grissom_!" Catherine snapped, coming to a stop before him. Her blue eyes were crackling in the dark and a firm frown sat on her face. "What the hell do you think you're doing calling me out of Lindsey's Nutcracker?"

Grissom pursed his lips. "Is there another one?"

"The 17th…"

"Go see that one."

"You—"

"There's a dead elderly woman in the backyard," he interrupted. "Sara and Greg, go check out the body; Nick and David are already there. Warrick, I want you to go check out the girl's room. Catherine, backdoor was the entry-way."

"And where are _you_ going to go?" Catherine replied sardonically.

"I'm going to go talk to Sofia."

* * *

"Okay, so it was _Santa Claus_ who came into your room?" Sofia asked Megan hesitantly.

"Yes."

"You're _sure._"

"Yes!" Megan screeched, stomping her foot on the grass. "It was a big fat man in a red suit! He came into my room, I pretended to be asleep while he took some of my toys, and then he left out my window!"

Sofia stared vacantly ahead before sighing and jotting a couple of notes down on her pad.

"I can read upside down, you know," Megan stated arrogantly.

Sofia glanced back up at her as the girl leaned her pointy nose forward to see what she had written.

"And I do not _appear _to _believe_ that it was Santa in my room. It _was_ Santa. I know it."

"But…uh…," Sofia quickly fished around her head for a response. "But Santa doesn't leave the North Pole before Christmas Eve, you know."

"Uggh!" Megan threw her hands up. "If you won't believe me, I'll scream police brutality and my daddy will _sue you_." Megan stuck out her tongue at the older woman, then folded her arms and turned her back to her.

Sofia's mouth hung open slightly and she narrowed her eyes at the girl.

"Making any progress?" Grissom asked, stepping up behind the detective.

She looked over her shoulder and stood, folding the notepad closed.

"She, uh…" Sofia lowered her voice so Megan couldn't hear from where she stood, glaring evilly over her shoulder at the two. When it felt safe to continue, she explained the extent of the interview to him.

"The person who went into her room was most likely the person who killed the elderly woman. There was no ID on her, but I'm sure the sheriff will know at least her first name if she was in his backyard," Grissom responded.

"Mmm…" Sofia murmured. "I'll try and see if I can get anymore details from the _sweet _little girl. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go talk to the sheriff." Grissom pointed his flashlight towards Brass and the man, nodded goodbye to Sofia, and headed off.

* * *

"Oh boy," Greg exclaimed upon arrival at the actual crime scene.

In the middle of the spacey lawn laid the corpse of an old woman. She wore a white shawl over a pale blue sweatshirt and jeans. A pair of black snow-boots dawned her feet and there was a set of bifocals askew on her nose. Her face was old and worn, wrinkled, her mouth frowning as its left side lay on the cold ground. The head was twisted away from the rest of her body, settled with its back on the dirt and grass.

"Hey Greg. Sara," Nick acknowledged, adjusting his camera and taking a couple more photos of the dead woman. He seemed to be the only person who hadn't been in the middle of something before they were all called in.

"Hey," they answered in unison, stepping cautiously along the grass around the corpse.

"So, uh…Dave, what's TOD?" Nick questioned the young coroner.

David answered distractedly, "About 8:45 PM." He paused, brushing his fingers on the dead woman's face. "Hey, you guys...what do these bruises look like to you?" The woman's face was beat up by numerous uniform bruises, tiny puncture wounds at the tip of each.

Sara, Greg, and Nick all bent their faces down to the woman's head.

"Hoof prints," Sara was first to say, her hands in her pockets.

"That's what I thought…" David muttered.

"Grandma got run over by a reindeer," Greg joked, smirking.

"Yeah, you can say that again…" Nick agreed. He paused, still looking at the body. "What's this we got here…?" He set the camera down and reached into his kit behind him, coming forward with a pair of tweezers. He lifted a small hair from the corpse of the woman and held it up, Sara shining a flashlight at it.

"It's about a four inches long, brown…seems pretty thick…" she observed.

"Maybe it's reindeer fur," Greg offered with a chuckle.

"Greg, when was the last time you saw a reindeer in Nevada?" Sara inquired, nearly rolling her eyes.

His laughing died out. Clearing his throat, he replied innocently, "She's got hoof prints on her forehead. It's a possibility."

Sara sighed.

"Let's get to work. Greg and I'll take a look around the yard."

"And I'll get this body to Doc Robbins," David stated, waving over the people with stretchers and large black body bags.

* * *

Warrick opened the white door to Megan's room and let out a sigh as he entered. The room was large, a walk-in closet on the same wall as the door. A dusty bookcase stood against the far wall next to a window and around the base of it was what looked like hundreds of toys, scattered all over the floor—stuffed animals upon stuffed animals upon dolls upon an enormous hodgepodge of any toy a child could want.

"Better get to work," he muttered to himself.

If he finished early, he might be able to get back home and make up the missing half of his and Tina's night out before she went to her own job.

There were so many toys; it was hard to tell that anything was missing. So instead of busying himself with an inventory of missing items, Warrick started by dusting the door of the bedroom. He recovered nothing. He then dusted the open window…another disappointing result of zilch.

He sighed, staring out the window. Below, he saw that the body bag was full. Sara and Greg were walking around the yard, stopping here and there, a scattering of yellow plastic markers in their wake. Nick was taking pictures of the indent in the grass where the victim had laid. Again, Warrick let out a soft breath through his nose. Then, suddenly, something caught his eye. There, stuck on the window lock, was a small red thread. He squinted at it before reaching into his chest pocket for a pair of tweezers and a bag. He pulled it off the window and looked even closer at it—just a plain red thread. He stuck it into the bag, shut it and placed it in his kit

He examined the window some more, found nothing, and grudgingly closed up the box.

"Warrick?"

He turned to see Grissom standing in the doorway.

"Hey boss," he greeted in a disheartened tone.

"Making any progress?"

"Nothing but a single red thread. No prints, no other trace. I can hardly tell what was taken."

Grissom glanced around at the spacious room, looking as if he were almost intimidated by the amount of luxuries this girl had.

"Did you look at the floor?" He caught sight of a small indent of carpet in one corner.

"Griss, come on. I mean, do we really have to do this? They're just toys."

"They could lead to a killer," he pointed out.

Warrick heaved another sigh and looked at the floor beneath his feet. Again, something abnormal was brought to his attention. Specks of black dirt on the floor. He bent down, taking a tape-lift from his pocket. He stuck it onto the trace and pulled it up.

"Griss, I got some black powdery dirt…and it's not fingerprint powder."

Grissom turned to look at Warrick's discovery.

"Good find. We can give that to Hodges back at the lab. I just finished talking to Brass and the sheriff. Sheriff was just finishing up putting his daughter to bed while his wife was out of town. He went downstairs, a half hour later his daughter is yelling for him and he hears some bells and a muffled scream. He went to see his daughter first, of course and then looked outside and saw the body. He says it was a neighbor, probably headed over to drop off some fruitcake for the holidays."

"But why use the backdoor?"

"Grissom!"

Warrick and Grissom turned to see Catherine standing there, her earlier anger only partially dissipated.

"Yes?" Grissom asked pleasantly.

"I finished the backdoor. One print on the doorbell and a few smudges on the doorknob. Also, a fruitcake on the doorstep, if that means anything. Nicky's got that. You guys get anything more?"

"Some black dirt and a red thread. That's it," Warrick muttered, tossing the tape-lift into his kit lazily.

"Hmm…sounds like Santa," Catherine indicated, raising her eyebrows.

"That's exactly who the daughter thinks entered her room," Grissom declared.

Suddenly Grissom's cellphone chirped.

"Grissom."

"Griss, you gotta come see this."

"Sara?"

"Come to the back if you're not busy."

Grissom leaned over towards the window, peeking down at the yard. Sara, Greg, and Nick were all standing next to something he couldn't see.

"Okay…" He closed his phone.

"What does she want?" Catherine asked.

"She says I have to see something, wanna come?"

"Yeah, sure. I've got nothing better to do…no Nutcrackers to see, no daughters to congratulate…" Catherine stepped aside, Grissom and Warrick walked past her, and all three of them headed down the stairs and out the back door.

* * *

"_You_ are looking at a set of sleigh tracks," Sara declared, almost proudly.

The group stood around two even marks in the ground, pressed deeply. They looked like two parallel bars running halfway through the yard, starting a couple of feet from the backdoor and stopping a few yards from where the neighbor's body had laid.

"The space between the two impressions is about five feet or so and the width of the sleigh runners is about…six inches, give or take a half inch," Sara stated, checking the measurements she had written down, her voice tilting up slightly at the end.

Grissom was gazing at the length of the impressions, his eyes narrowed slightly as he stood in thought.

"Any thoughts, Grissom?" Greg asked.

"Reindeer tracks on her face and sleigh treads in the grass…I don't know what to think right now."

"We found a red thread stuck on the girl's window," Warrick said, breaking the silence. "And some black dirt on her carpet."

"So what, Santa killed Granny?" Greg asked.

"Didn't know he was one for stealing toys…" Nick replied.

"Nothing is said until we process this evidence. Santa Claus is not a suspect. If he even exists, he lives at the North Pole, not Las Vegas. Now, if we're all done here, we should get back to the lab."

Nods all around and they picked up their kits and stalked off the scene.


	3. I'll be Home for Christmas

**I'll Be Home for Christmas**

**December 14, 1:03 AM**

_**11 days until Christmas**_

The lab too was getting ready for the holiday season. Judy Tremont's desk had been covered with piles of holiday paraphernalia. The walls and hallways were laden with pine garlands and lights, baubles and other trimmings. A good-sized Christmas tree was in the breakroom, filled with round ornaments, assorted glass figurines, and multicolored Christmas lights that blinked.

The custodians were taking extra, meticulous care while cleaning the floors, and could often be found humming a soft carol underneath their breath as they worked. The lab techs took charge of decorating their own labs, almost in a competition to see who could make theirs the best. So far, the trace lab was winning as Hodges pattered around in his spare time, fixing a holly berry here and there, adding assorted knickknacks, rearranging the mistletoe in the doorway, and testing the adjustment on each and every Christmas light when they went out.

Christmas cards were filling up the mailboxes already and every once in awhile a package would arrive. As the group of nightshift CSI's filed in, Judy looked up from her seat and said, "Mr. Sanders, a package."

Greg grinned and stole away from the group, leaning his arms on the counter as Judy picked the package from the ground beside her and gave it to him.

"To Gregory," Greg read aloud, a hint of peeked interest in his voice. "Where's the return address?" He lifted his face to Judy, who shrugged. Tucking it underneath his arm, he jogged after the rest of the team.

"What's that?" Sara asked him, glancing at the box wrapped in green packaging paper.

"I don't know. No return address."

"It says Merry Christmas on the top," Sara noted, staring at the red marked words.

"Well _duh_. But who's it from?"

"What are you asking _me_ for, it's your package!"

"Well were you planning on doing anything, 'cause it'd be nice if you'd be there with a fire extinguisher or something while I open this. Could be a bomb or something."

"I was going to check out sleighs…"

But Greg grabbed her jacket sleeve and took a hard left into the breakroom, Sara following him reluctantly as they broke away from the rest of the group.

"Okay, how do we get started?" Greg asked, setting the package on the table.

"Open it?" Sara suggested sarcastically. "Do you really want me to grab a fire extinguisher?"

Greg shook his head, looking uneasily at the green packaging and bright red words.

"There's something familiar about that handwriting. Something familiar that reminds me of home-baked cookies and long stories by the fire…" His voice trailed out and his face turned pale.

"What?"

Greg muttered something inaudible beneath his breath and ripped the paper off. Then he opened the flaps of the box and groaned heavily.

"_What_?" Sara asked again, peering over Greg's shoulder at the package.

Greg pulled out a letter on cream-colored paper, written in green ink. He perused the letter quickly then crumpled it up and threw it in the garbage.

"I wanted to read that," Sara said, slightly put out.

"Knock yourself out," Greg muttered, reaching into the package again and pulling out something so hideous, he nearly gagged. There was definitely a certain expression of disgust. A sweater. The body of it was brown, and there were maroon stripes dotted with misshapen evergreen colored, pine trees. Gold puffballs sprinkled the fuzzy, wool fabric, which looked unpleasantly itchy.

Sara reached into the garbage can and pulled out the crumpled note. She then read it aloud.

"_'Dear Gregory_,' Now that's something I don't hear you called every day. '_We haven't heard from you for a while. We, as in your father and I, were talking about how excited we were for when you would be coming home for Christmas. Julie is pregnant again. Are you ever planning on meeting any of your favorite cousin's children more than three times?'_' How many kids does she have, anyway?"

Greg shrugged, still grimacing at the sweater.

"Anyway... '_We can't wait for you to come home for Christmas. Bring your mother grandchildren, or at least the prospect of grandchildren. Julie's had five and it's becoming almost unbearable to listen to your aunt go on and on about being a grandmother. Your father and I want some too.'_"

Sara had difficulty concealing her laughter as she tried to read on.

"_'Please wear the sweater Julie knit for you. She was so proud. It'll make her even happier if you wear it when you come by. The date is December 20th. That was the only time Julie and her husband had time ready._'" Sara squinted at the last line. "What the heck does _that_ mean?"

"It says 'Vi sees snart'. It means '_We will meet soon_'…My mom always puts that at the end of her letters, something my grandpa said," Greg muttered, folding up the sweater and putting it back in the box.

"Oh…Well. You better start making some grandchildren. I'll tell Grissom and you can take the night off." Sara smirked and Greg crumpled up the green packaging paper and threw it at her. She caught it one-handed instead and tossed it into the garbage.

"I'm not going," Greg declared, taking the letter from Sara's other hand and ripping it up, tossing the remains atop the ball of wrapping paper sitting in the wastebasket.

"Why not?" Sara questioned, glancing at the scattered torn up bits of the letter in the trashcan.

"Because my family's a bunch of _nutcases_," he cried as though it were obvious. "My mom wants a houseful of grandchildren, my cousin is giving my _aunt_ a household of grandchildren, which makes Mom mad, my dad is always teasing me for not being able to hold a girlfriend, and my aunt thinks she's a psychic." He made a strangled noise and flailed his hands. "_She's not_!"

With a final accusatory tone, he pointed at the box sitting on the table.

"And the _main_ reason I'm not going is because this sweater is hideous and I'm not going to wear it."

"Wear what?"

Nick materialized in the doorway.

"Nothing," Greg muttered.

"A sweater his cousin knit for him," Sara answered.

"_Sara_!"

She shrugged innocently.

"You're angry about a sweater?"

"No, he just doesn't want to go to his parents' house for Christmas."

"Oh…" Nick stood in thought for a moment. "Would it make anything better if Sara and I come with? I can totally handle it. I have six brothers and sisters, not counting in-laws, and you can just imagine all the people running around at my parents' house during the holidays."

Greg threw his hands up.

"You guys coming would only make it worse! They'd start trying to talk Sara into making grandchildren with me! And if I told them we aren't together, they'd either think she was a lesbian or was with you, Nick!"

Nick and Sara stared at him, Sara's cheeks beginning to flush as she tried to hold in a sudden fit of giggles. Once she had control of herself, a heavy silence hung in the air. Nick finally broke it with a small cough.

"Well, I suppose we can put this conversation away for the time being," Nick said. "Grissom told _me_ to tell _you_ to get to work. Sara, you are doing…?"

"Sleighs in Las Vegas," she stated simply, walking out of the room, no longer laughing.

"What about you?"

"I'll go ahead and…umm…double-check the hoof-prints we found to see if they for sure came from a reindeer."

"Okay then." He went in the opposite direction of Sara, leaving Greg to hang his head. He caught sight of the sweater again out of the corner of his eye, and with a grimace, shoved the box further away. When that wasn't enough, he folded the flaps over the top and put it over on the counter, then left the room.

* * *

"Mr. Cunningham?" Dr. Robbins said to the speechless man.

The widower looked up from the deceased body of his wife.

"How…how did she die?"

Robbins began his words slowly. "She was trampled by some sort of animal. It was probably quick…and relatively painless."

It was the most comforting thing he could say. Quick and painless. The way anyone would like to die, or anyone would like his or her loved one to die.

"So…so no one will be prosecuted then?"

"There's a possibility someone might be behind it."

The man looked over the top of his large glasses, when suddenly a tear drained from his eye and fell down to the tip of his bulbous nose, where it trembled before dropping onto the body.

"Doc?" Grissom showed up in the doorway.

"I'm gonna go now…" Mr. Cunningham managed, turning and drifting out into the hallway past Grissom.

"Got anything for me?" Grissom questioned, entering the cold, steel room further.

"She was trampled by some sort of hoofed animal."

"Greg's looking to match the tracks…" Grissom replied flatly, examining the face of the woman.

"One of the hooves landed on her neck, broke it. End of story."

Gil gazed at the woman's corpse, his rapidly thinking brain hidden behind blue eyes.

"What are you thinking?"

Grissom sighed.

"I don't know."

* * *

"Jacqui, I got some prints for you," Catherine exclaimed, coming into the print lab and thrusting the evidence bag on the table.

"Happy holidays to you too," Jacqui muttered, turning around on her spinning chair.

"Grissom pulled me out of seeing Lindsey's Nutcracker. I'm _pissed_."

"I can see that." Jacqui pulled the prints out from beneath Catherine's hand. "What are these from?"

"The case from the sheriff's house."

"Oh yeah, the one that's all over the news."

"Yeah, _that_ one."

"They're saying it was _Santa Claus_."

"Yeah, well I don't think Santa's fingerprints are going to be in AFIS."

"I'll take a look…how's the case coming without the prints?" Jacqui gave Catherine a sideways glance as she brought the prints to the scanner.

Catherine sighed, leaning against one of the tables and rattling off all they had.

"We've got almost nothing but some hoof-prints on the deceased's face, some sleigh tracks, some black dirt, and a red thread."

"That's it?"

"And a fruitcake…"

"Not really looking up, is it?"

"No. And imagine what's going to happen to the lab if we declare it was Santa who pulled a B&E, stole some girl's toys, and then did a hit-and-run to an old lady in his sleigh."

Jacqui started to chuckle heavily.

"You see? That's exactly the reaction we'd get. This is probably some freaky Santa wannabe. Page me when you get the results, will you?"

"You bet."

* * *

Catherine drove home with a slight frown on her face. This was not going to be fun to face. She was tired, irritable, and just about the angriest towards Grissom she had been in a long time. She pulled roughly into her driveway, pulled her purse off the passenger seat as she turned off the car, and headed into the house.

"I'm home!" she called into the silence. "Mom? Lindsey?"

She set her purse on the counter and headed down the hallway towards Lindsey's room. She knocked on her daughter's door cautiously, her stomach squirming in nervous anticipation.

"Linds?"

No answer.

She pushed the door open slightly and saw Lindsey sitting on her bed, her back to the door.

"Lindsey? You ready for school?"

"Grandma's taking me," she said flatly.

"Grandma? Why?"

Great job Catherine, play stupid. That's definitely going to work.

"Because…" Lindsey mumbled under her breath, a certain teenage tone that might as well have said 'duh'.

"What? Are you alright?" Catherine drifted over to Lindsey's bed, smoothing the covers and sitting down next to her. Still playing dumb.

"I'm _fine_, Mom." A scoff and an eyeroll.

Catherine let out a sigh.

"Look, Lindsey, I'm sorry I had to leave your Nutcracker. Grissom—"

"I don't want to hear about what _Grissom_ had to say. I don't want to hear about _work_. I _know_ you have to go to _work_. Work, work, work. That's all you do. You're never home. You're probably not even going to be home for Christmas. And I don't care. I want you to stay at work for Christmas. Grandma and I will be fine without you. Because you know what? We always are." Her body shook slightly as she spoke, obviously angry, but she kept composure.

Catherine rolled her eyes angrily, then turned to her, trying her hardest not to yell. The result was an overly stern voice. "Lindsey, do _not_ talk to me that way, _please_!"

Eye roll.  
"Now I am _sorry_ I missed most of your Nutcracker, okay? It wasn't my fault. I wanted to see it! That's why I came in the first place! I _wanted_ to see it!"

Lindsey wiped a teardrop from her face.

"Gil made me come in. It was a big case. He needed all hands on deck."

She gazed at her daughter for a moment before reaching her arms around her shoulders and pulling her to her. She nuzzled her head into Lindsey's hair and whispered, "I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, I will. You've got to give me some leeway with these kinds of things."

Lindsey sniffed and wiped her eyes, taking a deep shuddering breath as she pulled out of the hug. As a tear dribbled at the tip of her nose and Catherine wiped it away, she replied, "I want you to come to the one on Saturday. And make everybody come with so no one can call you to work."

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "You want everyone to come to your Nutcracker?"

She nodded.

"Everybody? Sara, Nick, Grissom, everyone?"

"And Warrick and Greg and that…that Hodges guy who fell asleep on the microscope that one time."

Catherine shook her head as if wondering how she was going to convince the entire night shift to participate in her daughter's wishes.

"I don't know if I can get everyone to come…"

Lindsey glared.

"You said—"

"Okay, okay!" She sighed. "I'll try."

They fell into silence, and after awhile Lindsey softly said, "I'm sorry I said that about you not being here for Christmas. You don't just work all the time. And I want you to be here for Christmas."

Catherine smiled and hugged Lindsey again, when suddenly her _own_ mother showed up in the door.

"Ready for school Lindsey, hun?"

"Mom's taking me, Grandma."

"Really?" Her eyes flitted between the two and her face split into a grin. "Okay then." She walked away.

Catherine turned to Lindsey as the older woman left.

"You better go find your backpack, missy, or you're going to be late for school."

Lindsey slid off the bed.

"Get going! Get your little tush in the car!" Catherine joked, giving her a slight prod in the back.

The smile she wore was only a façade. There was still the issue of getting the entire nightshift to come to her daughter's Nutcracker on Saturday. What did Lindsey think? That mom meant _miracle _worker?


	4. Must be Santa

**Must Be Santa**

**December 15, 2:35 AM**

_**10 days until Christmas**_

_Click, click, click._

Sara sighed heavily as she continued scrolling through hundreds of lists of Christmas sleighs, some of them only a couple of inches in size, some life-size. Only a few were meeting the dimensions of the sleigh treads they had found at the crime scene. That was typically a good thing, narrowing down their options beforehand, but for some reason it was making her feel as if she was wasting her efforts. She had spent most of her night and the night before, searching for sleighs, and she hadn't even started calling numbers to find out if they'd sold any to the Las Vegas area. The search had been almost futile.

"Hey Sara, how're those sleigh tracks coming along?" asked Warrick, materializing beside her, gazing at the computer screen over Sara's shoulder. "Ah…everything's found on Google."

Sara turned her face to him, glaring. "Can you believe the department doesn't have a sleigh directory?" she muttered sarcastically.

"Just makes your life that much more difficult, huh?"

Sara groaned again.

"I have been sitting at this computer for the entire shift, looking for sleighs and have come up with very, very few that meet the dimensions of ours. A 'Santa and Friends Co.' sells life-size Santas and sleighs. Their medium version is about the right size. And then there's 'Sleigh Bells Inc.' who sells sleighs for sleigh rides, like if you were in charge of recreation for a small town you'd probably order a sleigh from them. The final one is 'Happy Holiday Display Co.' They use life-size sleighs for decoration purposes."

Sara rubbed the back of her neck as Warrick replied, "But that's a good thing. We won't have too much trouble finding the right one."

"I've got the numbers of those companies and I have to call them…I bet it's long distance…" She buried her face in her hands.

Warrick gazed at the screen full of visited purple links.

"Well, I just got back from talking to Hodges. That black dirt I found by the girl's window was your run-of-the-mill chimney soot."

"No kidding?" Sara mumbled through her fingers.

"Yeah, and that red thread I found? It's velveteen. You could also look up velveteen Santa suits."

Sara pulled her head out of her hands and glowered at him.

"Why don't _you_ do that? If I sit at this computer any longer my eyes will fall out of my head and I'll be stuck in a hunched over position for weeks."

"Well, it might help if you sit up straight."

Warrick pushed Sara's chair in as far as it would go, forcing her to sit up unswervingly vertical.

"That's not going to keep my eyes from falling out."

"Have you checked the yellow pages?"

"That was my first stop. I looked through that most of yesterday."

"I'll go get you a cup of coffee."

Sara sighed. "Santa costume it is then…"

"And I'll start those phone calls for you too."

He swiftly took the list of phone numbers Sara had written down from the computer desk.

"Hey!" Sara cried, reaching out for them. "I was going to do that."

"No, you weren't. With your social skills we'd never solve this case."

Sara looked sincerely offended. "I can ask about sleigh sales and dimensions just fine."

Warrick waved her off as he pulled out his cellphone and headed out the door. Sara sighed heavily, too drained to bother going after him. As Warrick walked down the hallway, he passed the room Sofia and Nick were inside of, conversing with Mr. Cunningham on the sofa opposite them.

"So, as far as you know, your wife had no enemies?" Sofia questioned gently.

"No ma'am."

"No neighborhood kids she might have upset? Megan, maybe?" Nick pressed.

Mr. Cunningham looked injured. "Megan? Never! Kate was in love with that child. She made cookies for her almost every day, treated her as if she were her own. There aren't really any kids I can think of that would dislike her. She wasn't one of the cranky old coots you see on TV shows all the time. Nothing like that."

His voice nearly broke at the last sentence and his indignity at Nick's comment drained away.

"Umm…your wife brought over a fruitcake, for the Sheriff and his family, we're presuming," Nick continued. "Just a holiday gift, I'm guessing?"

Mr. Cunningham hesitated, his mouth hanging open slightly before he closed it and nodded. "Yes. A gift. She had set it in the kitchen window to cool it that...that…" He couldn't continue and his breathing began to come in shakes as he started to sob.

Sofia handed him a tissue and he loudly blew his nose into it.

"I'm sorry…" he blubbered. " It's just—it's just that it's almost C-Christmas and she was going t-to see her only g-grandchild for the f-first time. He was born a c-couple weeks ago."

He choked and blew his nose again.

Sofia and Nick sat there at a loss for words.

"We're sorry, sir," Nick said in a quiet voice.

"It'll get easier as time passes," Sofia offered in a soft, comforting whisper.

"I'd like to go home now," Mr. Cunningham declared, standing up. "Which way is out of here?"

"To your left," Sofia said.

"Thank you." And he headed out.

Sofia let out a sigh. "Well, that went well."

"Did you notice how he hesitated when we asked him about the fruitcake?" Nick pointed out.

"Why?"

"Doesn't that seem strange?"

Sofia's expression gave off the impression she was trying to think of an answer.

"I'm gonna go check that out, 'kay? See you later…"

* * *

"Gil, I gotta talk to you."

Catherine stood authoritatively at the door to Grissom's office, although her body language suggested somebody who really would prefer to be somewhere else, doing something else, with somebody else. Catherine had spent most of the shift trying to figure out the proper way to present her case and _somehow_ convince Grissom to convince the rest of the nightshift to come to Lindsey's Nutcracker.

Grissom looked up from his desk, peeking over the rim of his glasses and setting down a newspaper. It was explaining about a quarter of the case on three pages, even though half a page would suffice. A picture of the sheriff's house was on the front.

"Gil, about Lindsey's Nutcracker…"

Catherine swept into the room, gracefully and self-assured as always, and sat in the chair in front of Grissom's desk.

"What about it?"

"You pulled me out of it—"

Grissom held up a single finger to shush her and interrupted with, "We went over this already. You can go to the one on Saturday. I'm sorry, it was a high-priority case and I needed everybody on board."

Catherine took in a deep breath and continued as if he'd said nothing, though she sounded slightly more dignified. "You pulled me out of it _and_ Lindsey was very upset. She wants me to come to the one on Saturday."

Grissom looked puzzled.

"Then…why are you here?"

"Because you have to come with."

Grissom blinked, then stated simply, "Okay."

"And Nick, and Warrick, Sara, Greg, and Hodges," she continued, rattling them off on her fingers.

Grissom stared. "Hodges."

"She thinks he's funny."

"This was Lindsey's idea?"

"Yep."

"Your daughter wants almost the entire nightshift to come to her Nutcracker?"

"Yep."

He heaved a sigh and placed two fingers to his temples.

"And I suppose you want me to persuade them all to come?"

"Yep," she said, still holding onto the confident aura around her.

"And…is there a reason she wants us all to come?"

Catherine sighed. "She said it was so that nobody can call me to work."

"Smart kid," he sighed, setting his head in the crook between his forefinger and thumb.

She tilted her head to the side, flashing a quick grin at that comment, before continuing. "So will you?"

Grissom set his hands back on the desk, gazing half-heartedly at the newspaper again.

"What time does it start?"

"_Thank you._"

* * *

Nick entered one of the observation labs, a warm, steaming cup of coffee in his hands. Greg was there, gazing half-heartedly at the numerous transparencies and photographs from the scene.

"No drinks in here," Greg ordered almost immediately upon Nick's entrance. "And that had better not be my Blue Hawaiian coffee. That stuff is expensive and there is a reason I don't let anyone else make it."

"It's not," Nick fibbed, setting it down on a table against the wall he was nearest. "Are you getting anywhere with those hoof-prints?" He approached Greg's side, his eyes flitting from picture to picture, transparency to transparency.

"They're definitely reindeer tracks."

"You're not lying?" Nick questioned, thinking nothing but how much of a hypocrite he was.

"_No_, I'm not. See for yourself." Greg gestured at the table, as if this new found evidence were somehow a bad thing.

Nick examined the transparency over the close-up of the woman's face—a perfect match.

"Are there any reindeer at a zoo nearby here?" Greg wondered aloud.

"I don't think so…maybe. You should check that out."

"And what are _you_ doing?"

"Hodges is processing that fruitcake for me. I think something might be up."

"Oh…well, in the meantime, I'm going to go get some coffee," Greg muttered, photographing the last of his findings, scribbling something down on a clipboard, and putting everything away. He headed out into the hallway, Nick swiping his cup of coffee and following. Greg made a beeline for the breakroom, and when he got there a pot of coffee was slowly filling itself, the tantalizing aroma wafting in the air around them.

"Nick, why does that smell like Blue Hawaiian?"

Nick peered into the mug in his hands, the deep brown swirling liquid shining up at him. The delicious taste lingering on the steam was almost too much.

Greg looked over at the pot of trickling liquid coming from the coffee-maker.

"Soo…" Nick began, trying to divert the subject. He went and sat down at the table and continued. "About your parents' house."

"I don't want to talk about it. I'm not going. That's final."

Greg bustled about, pulling out a mug, creamer, and then pouring the coffee into it. It was definitely Blue Hawaiian. He drifted over to the table and sat down directly across from Nick.

"Raise your right hand," he commanded.

"Oh-kay…" Nick said in a confused tone.

"Now repeat after me: _Never_ again."

"Umm…Never again."

The scrawny lab tech Greg had disappeared almost completely, replaced with the angry face of…something else.

"Now, you were saying, about my parents."

"Umm…yeah…what's the worst that could happen when you go there?"

Greg grimaced.

"I don't want to even think about it."

"Do you have family issues or something?"

"No. I love my family. They're just extremely embarrassing. Like one time, it was my cousin's wedding, and my aunt had gotten a little bit drunk…she started this huge cake fight. I swear, if any of you guys had been there you would never have let me down."

"I wouldn't mind meeting the nuthouse of the nutcase."

"Nobody would mind except me."

"I'm sure Catherine could fix that sweater."

"Julie would notice."

"Who?"

"Cousin."

The room went silent and Greg drained half of his coffee, like a drunkard at a bar. Just then, Catherine rounded a corner out in the hallway. She spotted them inside the breakroom and decided to enter herself.

"Hey guys. Jacqui got back to me on those fingerprints—all of them were the victim's." She sighed. "Another dead end." Then she caught whiff of the brewing liquid. "Ooh, Greg made coffee." She turned to him, taking a half step toward the pot. "May I?"

_"Yes_ Catherine, you _may_. _Thank _you for _asking._" Greg glowered at Nick for another moment. Catherine poured herself a mug, then caught sight of the box holding Greg's sweater.

"What's that?"

"Uhh, it-it's nothing! Nothing!" Greg mumbled.

But Catherine had already opened it and pulled out the hideous sweater.

"What is _this_?"

"My sweater." It was almost undecipherable Greg mumbled it so low.

Catherine tried to conceal a grimace. She sniffed at it then winced heavily.

"It could do with a washing."

"If you want to, go right ahead."

"Maybe the puffballs will fall off?" she offered.

"We can only hope," Nick replied, smirking behind his coffee cup.


End file.
